Mechanics of Axis
by ianii
Summary: [HB, Twoshot] In the face of an apocalyptical tragedy, finding new living quarters is the least of your worries. Sometimes, however, learning to cope and to heal is defined by the word home. And so it goes.
1. Stop, Wrench

A/N: This two-shot was originally going to be a one shot, but I decided that for cosmetic reasons it should be two chapters. This story is a future-based one, and I'll let you infer what the background of it is. The cause of the disaster is very vague for that reason. The story is told in past tense because that's what it is: in the past. Lots of things happen between the 'disaster' (ooh mysterious) and the present, when it is being told. I suppose I'll have to explain more in the next chapter, as it raises more questions (and answers some too), but I just want you to read this part and remember that it is full of so much symbolism I'd have to make a list. I hope you enjoy:)

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**Mechanics of Axis**

Part I

When someone dies, the world should Stop. It's _supposed_ to Stop. Illogical it may be, but is anything logical when dealing with death? I am the symbolic manifestation of death; my existence is anything but logical. Symbolism is lost on me. Always has been. But the world should have been ending right then, shouldn't it have? It didn't.

When someone you love is gone, a piece of you is ripped out, stolen by a thieverous event and never replaced until you have lost more tears, more shuddering breaths, more energy. You'd think a cure would have been made by now. You'd think that if I've seen the downfall of so many people that I'd know how to prevent such a decline of spiritual morale and enthusiasm.

The truth is that loss is a vengeful sprite that delivers a sucker punch to your gut when you least expect it, leaving you breathless, hurt and tearful. For all my experience I would never trade anything for this knowledge. In this instance, ignorance is pure bliss.

The world continued on its way, shuffling its feet in the same manner it always had, with people moving along with it at simple placid paces. They are not all like that; there are some who are yanked back by the force of Stopping, much like the feeling you get when a speeding car suddenly gets the brakes put on. I joined the ranks of those people that day.

With my friends gone, my employer gone, and the Spirit World itself a ball of destruction in the heavens, I was left wondering why the world was still spinning. Wondering why people didn't notice or care. Oh, there were the people who knew about the crisis, and they were upset, but I couldn't fathom a reason everyone _else_ continued their lives. Why nobody had this innate sense that something was wrong wrong wrong, and that when their life leaked out of their toes and into a transparent, foggy imitations of what they once were, they would have nowhere to go. Nowhere to turn to. The parallel dimension that they lived in, that dimension that served as a one-way mirror to the living world would soon become so crowded they couldn't fit. But oblivious they were, and therefore I had to leave. So I left to look for you.

I found you, on your island in the sky, a beacon of heat and oasis of summer. You stood in front of your mother's grave, speaking of things which I will never hear. Perhaps you spoke of feelings which are beyond my comprehension. Perhaps you spoke of anger and retaliation or of sorrow for your lost childhood. You could have said many things, but it is my belief that you felt it. The wrinkle in reality has been pressed out. The fold where souls once hid has been ironed flat. The news had not yet reached you, but you knew. So you returned to the place you sprung from.

I think you were surprised when you saw me standing there, shivering, waiting, watching, you were the only thing I regarded as living from that moment on. You looked straight in my eyes then, remember? Even as they blurred with wind and wetness, even as I told you what became of my world. I knew I would break if you looked the other way, abandoned your gaze, my eyes. And I think you knew that too. How fragile I was, I mean.

I don't know what you thought of me then, and I don't really want to ever find out. I just know that you changed in that moment. You took me back, back to the safety of the ground, back to the warm air currents and dark nights. Neither of us really forgot, but we learned to work for inner peace. We learned to lean on each other for support until we got our energy back, our breath, our tears.

The world continued turning, chasing the sun west. It is and was illogical for it to Stop, but then, in front of your mother's grave, with the wind at our backs and the storm blanketing us safely on all sides, you put your arms around my shaking shoulders and pushed me into the oblivion of sorrow and grief and letting go and insanity.

The world Stopped.

I whispered.


	2. Go, Sprocket

A/N- This one gets pretty suggestive near the end. It also goes into about 3 percent more detail about what happened in Spirit World than the previous chapter did. It also is in Hiei's point of view, picking off from where Botan left off, sort of overlapping the story (by Boton giving background and Hiei giving more of an epilogue). Yes, I'm also going to let you decide how the romancing actually went, since I only touch on that for about a sentence. But it happened :D And basically this is me writing deep and thoughtful things and not going into too much detail. Sorry about that. I can only hope that you enjoyed this and review.

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Part II

Koenma is dead. When I heard this, I didn't know whether to celebrate or to comfort you. But when I heard the rest, you made the answer quite clear. George, Ayame, Kuwabara, Yusuke, Kurama… Yukina. These names all flew through my ear, registered themselves and then flew out the other side. I could only see the desperation in your eyes, the dependence on merely my presence. Instantly it was too cold, and you needed to be warm.

You said something to me then, in that small embrace. I don't think you knew I heard. You probably didn't even mean to speak, didn't mean to utter those words into my chest.

"The world is Stopped."

The world is Stopped? This was news to me; the world has been Stopped for me for a long time. The axis has gathered dust and the gears haven't turned in decades. Maybe it almost started moving when I had a purpose, when I found Yukina. But that time was too short, and the reasons too few. And now Yukina was gone.

Dear god, Yukina was gone.

But you hugged me tighter then, sensing my mind was wandering, almost breaking. I needed to hold together the pieces.

I think I saw my mother that day, standing next to her own grave in serene grace unknown to most of her kind (they're all animals, really, milking the world for finery until someone they don't want comes around and they scurry back into their homes like the rodents they are). Her hair was tied up, but I couldn't see her face. I don't know why I couldn't, but I do not normally question such things, so therefore I didn't. But it would make sense, wouldn't it? Where else would her soul go if Spirit World were gone? The Grand Canyon?

I tried to call out to her, but my voice was lost on the wind. Instead, words came out in whispers, and they seemed to speak even louder. So I told her of my life, of my sister's life, how I found her. And I told her of the present: of the uneasiness in the air, of my newfound susceptibility, about something was wrong and what was it what was it _what_?

At first I thought you were one of the Koorime. You look a lot like them, you know. Blue hair, pleasant face, same type of dress. It's your disposition and eyes that stand out, though, you know. You are too cheerful, too carefree to be compared too closely with that race. They are solemn, stony-faced and angry.

You didn't utter a word of protest when I took you back to the ground, to the warmth. In truth, I don't know why. You stayed where I put you and healed, and when you were healed you begged me to get my wounds cleaned. I don't know how the learning process got to this point. It evolved, I suppose, from one spark of change (like flint on steel) and developed into something much more than that, where both of us were healed and healthy with new pink flesh unable to forget the past but still stronger than before.

This is what scars are made of. Over time (weeks, months, years?) the worlds have changed. We have changed.

Now you plant a kiss on the back of my neck; the most vulnerable part of my body when I am in battle, and it sends a chill down my spine. I pat your head and the kiss you planted grows with every second into something beautiful. A tree, a vine, a bush, a blade of grass, or flower—it doesn't matter, it grows into something pinkandredandblueandblack and neither of us can control it and it goesandgoesandgoes and wait—

I pause and our heavy breath can be heard in the quiet. A noise.

Grind-_click_.

The gears start turning this mechanical world again, shaking the dust off its slats.

"What is it?" You look up, face flushed and coated with sweat, bright eyes concerned.

"Nothing," I tell you. "You should be a mechanic."

You look confused, but you smile anyway when you notice the corners of my mouth turned up in a happiness I haven't known in a long long while. Yes, it is turning slowly, but it is definitely not Stopped.


End file.
